Only fight battles...

that can be won.

The smoke billowing was overwhelming.

The sound emanating was worrying.

My grips I made stronger...

My life flashed by. My mind wandered to those people who I know would probably do anything to get me out of this perilous position I find myself in. A sense of regret began to creep in...

I must perservere. I simply must. My life probably depends on this.

A sharp pain snapped my mind wandering any further.

Another battle scar... as I examined the damage on my right arm.

At times like this, I am thankful for the 5 years of rigorous army training I had in my teenage years. I knew the hours of marching under the scorching sun, the skills in handling and firing M-16's, Styer AUG's and vehicle mounted armament and those days and nights in the jungle would come in handy someday - and today was one of those days.

Suddenly, an alien sound began to pierce the surroundings. As quickly as a leopard waiting in hiding for it's prey, I spun around in the direction of the sound...

"Is this your first time?"

I nearly dropped the ladle I was holding, but the oil began to drip... drip... drip...

I put the ladle on the counter.

"Yes."

And I flashed a light-bulb smile.

She smiled back and went about to prepare her dinner.

I quickly returned to my beef patty that was cooking, I hope, on my non-stick frying-pan. Embarrassed, I thought I began to blush a little.

Or was that my cheeks getting fried as well?

How did she know? Did I look that pathetic? Was it my posture? Ladle the wrong way? What what what?

Damn this kitchen. I can adapt in so many places, but here, I'm lost...

*******

It got fried, I poured ketchup to neutralise the burnt bits, slapped it between two slices of bread, and had my first self-made meal.

Now, what do I do with this hot excess oil?

*******

A few days later...

I was back in the kitchen, frying another beef patty, which was fast becoming my favourite meal. Of course, that was also pretty much the only thing in my freezer that I could fry, and I was beginning to get kicks frying... flipping on the stove, heating the hob to level '4', then non-stick frying-pan on hob, some oil, hand hovering gingerly over pan to get a feel of the heat, then the meat, a dash of pepper, before I stand way back to enjoy the sweet melodious sound of frozen meat meeting boiling oil.

Suddenly...

"You cooking dinner?"

Eh?

Question from one of my flat-mates who had just walked into the kitchen.

Look lady, I'm standing here in front of the stove, in the kitchen, ladle in hand, smoke pretty much coming out of my ears, oil jumping from the pan, two slices of bread on a plate beside me... and you want to know if I was cooking dinner? What did it look like?? What the heck did it otherwise look like??

"Yes."

And I flashed a light-bulb smile again, which I seem to be using whenever I get questioned in the kitchen.

I probably would have said I was "frying toothpaste, want some?" or something like that on a normal day, but it looks like my kitchen buddies still haven't gotten over the fact that I've begun to cook. So, I'll give them the benefit of doubt.

Get over it, I've arrived!

My beef sandwich is getting better by the day. Next time, I will experiment by adding some cucumber perhaps.

But I still haven't figured out what to do with the hot excess oil though...